Rupert Loydell
CLOSE
THE DOOR ON GLORY
i.m.
Agnes Martin
bright
light earth tones
clean air
vast
open spaces of rows and lines
no
objects disturb the horizon
a
grid drawn on the page
turned
out to be sublime
one-sided
conversations
spoken
in hidden pastels
twilight
browns and greys
a
line biroed on her hand
turned
out to be love
a
short whitewashed figure
sits
mute on a stone bench
listening
to the brushstroke wind
the
god of footprints accepts no prayers
walks
away from the landscape unseen
